The Greatest Gift, The Biggest Mistake
by Hekate1308
Summary: He knew what his brother needed. So Sherlock got it. AU, dark!Mycroft. Now with second chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is for .Life, who suggested the plot to me. More about that later. She was also the first ever to favourite a story of mine and put me on her favourite author list. Encouragement is important when you're just starting, so thank you. I hope you're feeling better.**

**I don't own anything and please review.**

It all starts – for John at least – on a wonderful autumn day.

It's one of those rare days at the end of October where the golden sun slowly trickles down the street, and it's not too cold to enjoy it.

John feels quite content as he climbs the steps to their flat with the groceries, and wonders if he can perhaps convince Sherlock to go for a walk. It's been four days since their last case, but his friend has been in an extraordinarily good mood so far and hasn't until now even once uttered the word "bored". Another reason for John to feel rather happy with his life on this Friday afternoon.

Until he opens the door and steps in the flat, at least.

As soon as he does that his good mood evaporates immediately.

Because he can see that Sherlock is sitting on the sofa –

And everything is so utterly _quiet_.

The only times the flat is quiet like this is when Sherlock is elsewhere – John should know, having lived for three years without the detective (though he hadn't been able to bring himself to return to the flat immediately, that had happened later).

If he is in the flat, there's always some kind of noise.

The rustling of a page in a book as it's turned; the clinging of bottles and glasses in the kitchen during an experiment; the creaking of the sofa as he turns around to lie on his other side or roll himself into a ball; his stride as he prances around; mumbling, to himself or to John, no matter in which room each of them might happen to be; violin playing or screeching or even just fingers plucking certain strings; a certain stir of the air as he searches for something in his mind palace; books or files or pictures flying around because he's frustrated he hasn't figured out who killed the victim yet; but _something_.

Even when he's sitting totally still, like now, there's a light stir in the air, almost like an electric current, that tells John whether or not Sherlock is in the flat when he enters it. It's like 221B only comes truly alive when Sherlock's there.

So, to see him now sitting on the sofa, and hear no sound, not one, is very disquieting.

In fact, John is scared.

Something must have happened.

He leaves the groceries in the kitchen, all but forgotten. He has to find out what happened. Or is happening. Or will happen. You can never be sure with Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

His flatmate looks at him and John almost stumbles back.

He has seen Sherlock look at him in a lot of different ways, but never like this.

The disgust is clearly written all over his face.

But before John can ask, or even stare for a while, Sherlock speaks.

"So, did he give you money, then? For the pain you suffered? I certainly hope you didn't sell yourself cheap."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" John stammers, unable to comprehend.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, still looking disgusted. "Please, don't insult my intelligence." When John keeps looking confused, he spits out, "So that's how it's going to be, then?" He stands up and walks over to the window, back facing John.

"Mycroft". He says it quietly, but there's an undertone there that tells John he has to find the right words, or... he doesn't know, but it can't be good.

"Sherlock... what about Mycroft?" Then he suddenly has a thought. He is sure Sherlock cares more about his brother then he lets on, so maybe...

"Did something happen to him? Is he alright?" Sherlock turns around so quickly that John jumps.

"Is he..." Now Sherlock is the one looking confused, and John has to admit that he has never seen the consulting detective so utterly clueless. Not even in the case of the body in the car that turned out to be part of Mycroft's scheme to spoil the plan of terrorists.

Sherlock stops, then resumes, but John notes thankfully that the disgust is gone. "So you... you don't know?"

"Know what? Sherlock, please... You are scaring me here. What is going on?"

Sherlock answers by putting on his coat and scarf. "Sherlock!"

"John, I'm sorry, I have to go and see my brother. You'll hear everything when I return, I promise."

"But, Sherlock..."

"Trust me, John, please."

"Just tell me something, don't leave me hanging like that..." Sherlock looks at John, then answers, quietly, "Just _think_, John. Mycroft has always been keen to control every aspect of my life. I just realized that he even controlled the one thing I was sure was mine, and mine alone..." Then he leaves without another word, and John is left to ponder his cryptic words.

Sherlock makes his way to the Diogenes club, though he doesn't know how. His thoughts are jumbled and all that's left is the feeling of betrayal – and a tiny bit of relief that John really didn't know, had no part in it. At least he has this.

At least John actually likes him for himself, and that's something.

He allows the foot man to bring him to the speaking room, and, as he expects, Mycroft comes in soon afterwards, posh as always, umbrella at his side.

"Brother mine, what an unexpected pleasure. How may I help you?"

Sherlock loos at him, and he knows that Mycroft knows he knows, after all, he still has the live feed of the camera Sherlock has never been able to find in their flat on his phone, but is too conceited or maybe enjoying this too much to admit it. So he takes a deep breath.

"John".

"What about him? I thought he had forgiven you for your little stunt of pretending to be dead for three years..." Mycroft's eyes darken and Sherlock takes a certain satisfaction out of the thought that his brother didn't know he was alive, either, and that for these three years he was free. For once in his life. True, he was unhappy and missed his friends, but he was _free_.

Although, come to think of it, he suddenly isn't so sure that Mycroft didn't tell Moriarty everything on purpose. His brother controls every aspect of his life, after all; maybe he wanted to control his death, too. And that thought, though he'd never admit it, scares him more than anything else.

"He has. Wholeheartedly. But, please, Mycroft, I'm not here to discuss the current state of our friendship. I'm here about the beginning of it."

Mycroft stands up and makes himself a brandy, without offering one to Sherlock, but he doesn't want anything anyway.

His brother sits down again and takes a sip before raising an eyebrow. "May I ask – how did you find out?"

Sherlock smiles joylessly. "Mike Stamford is a good man, but I fear he isn't the best actor around."

Mycroft shakes his head. "I _knew_ I should probably have made sure he couldn't say anything, but you seem rather fond of him – caring, as I told you before, is clearly not an advantage".

Sherlock sends Mycroft a glare. "I would prefer it if nothing happened to Mike now either."

The British Government shrugs his shoulders. "Why should I do anything about it now, dear brother? What's done is done. He's safe. So I take it he let slip that he knew who I was?".

"Not really – in fact, he didn't let slip anything. But if I'm standing in front of St Bart's with someone who is determined to tell me everything that has happened in his life in the three weeks since we saw each other the last time, and a black limousine drives by, and he shudders, though it's rather warm – "

"I see." Mycroft nods.

This is going nowhere, but Sherlock has to know. He just has to _know._

"How did it come to pass, then?"

Mycroft clears his throat and lets out an annoyed sigh.

"You were still out of control, even after I had set you up with DI Lestrade and you had quit cocaine" and even Sherlock has known this ever since the DI knocked on his door in his then small, cheap and nasty flat and called it a drugs bust and offered him to work with the police in the same breath, it's not something he likes to hear.

"You needed someone to help you focus, to keep you occupied. You needed a _friend_. Luckily, I could convince Mrs. Hudson to make the rent just high enough for you to search for a flatmate." Of course he did. Poor Mrs. Hudson.

"And then I started searching. Believe me, Sherlock, it wasn't easy. I needed someone who was utterly human and therefore able to keep you in check, but at the same time someone who would be able to protect you, even from yourself; someone who knew discipline, but wasn't eager to maintain it at all times. And he must be able to stand you and like you. It seemed near impossible.

I thought, however, that a soldier would be the most likely candidate, so I went through serving soldiers your age – and once I found Doctor Watson, I knew my search was over.

Kind, a doctor, a soldier, utterly – or, as you would probably say, boringly human. But, judging by the recommendations he got because he ran to wounded soldiers even in the midst of battle – an adrenaline junkie. Which would give him a reason to stay with one. Once he'd returned of course. So..."

"So" Sherlock says, and his blood runs cold, "You had him shot".

Mycroft looks slightly exasperated. "No need to be overdramatic, Sherlock. Of course I have contacts in every British regiment. It was easy to tell a sniper to wound him, severely enough to be invalided home, but without permanently incapacitating or killing him.

I couldn't foresee that he would develop a psychosomatic limp or a tremor in his hand" – he must have hated that, he usually pretends he can foresee everything – "but that just helped my purpose."

"How" Sherlock asks, and makes sure to keep his voice neutral, though Mycroft can surely see through him, "did you get Mike to introduce us?"

Mycroft smiles – a cold, calculating smile. "You can imagine my positive surprise when I realized that one of the few people you spoke to was an old friend of Doctor Watson. So I used my minor position in the British Government to ensure John got a flat – one of these "transit flats" for returning soldiers – near the park Mike Stamford transverses everyday to get his coffee.

I had him picked up one evening after he'd tried to teach students anatomy. I'm sure I don't need to tell you all the details – let's just say, at the end of our interview, he was more than ready to introduce you two. He is rather fond of his life as it is, I believe".

Sherlock is reminded why he, before he – was made to met John, was afraid of his brother.

"And then I asked John's therapist to lay their appointments in a way that would ensure Mike Stamford and Doctor Watson meeting, By accident, naturally."

"Naturally" Sherlock repeats.

"And the rest, as they say, brother mine, is history". Mycroft downs the remains of his brandy.

Sherlock stands up abruptly.

"Mycroft... Goodbye."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I may not be able to stop you controlling my life, but I am able to refuse to see you again. That" he winces at the cliché "was the last straw".

With this, he leaves the club and returns home.

John is anxiously waiting for him, become even more worried when he sees Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock..."

"John..." Sherlock exhales. "There's something I have to tell you, and you – you might not want to stay afterwards."

John wisely chooses to say nothing.

Sherlock tells him the truth.

Afterwards, John, who has let himself fall on the sofa by this point, sits still for a few minutes. Then he clears his throat. "Is that what you meant with "keen to control every aspect of my life"?"

"Yes" Sherlock answers, quietly. "When we were little, he told me which books to read, which clothes to wear. He decided which university I would attend and was furious when I quit. He sent Lestrade over to my place so I would start to work with the police..."

John's brows furrow. "What does he do if one of his plans..."

Sherlock bites his lip and shakes his head, and John exhales. "I understand".

"I tried to give you a hint" Sherlock tells him, "On our very first case. You remember? Your question about Mycroft being a criminal mastermind? My answer was –"

""Close enough". How could I forget". Suddenly, John looks pained. "Do you want me to leave? Because – I – I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock laughs out of sheer relief. "I'm so used to Mycroft controlling me by this point – he forced me to America all these years ago, just so I could meet Mrs. Hudson because I needed a "motherly influence" – and, with you, I'm for once rather glad he did what he did. Though I'm not glad, of course, that you got shot."

John smiles. "That makes two of us, then". Then he thinks of something, and suddenly, his eyes start to glitter.

"Come on, we are going for a walk".

He all but drags Sherlock out of the flat and actually finds a secluded spot without security cameras. Sherlock is impressed.

Sherlock – Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade aren't very happy to have Mycroft in their lives too, right?"

"Right".

"so... what if we bring him down? I mean" he elaborates, when he sees Sherlock's look, "it can't be that difficult to bring on a national crisis and make Mycroft the one to blame. He wouldn't have any power then – he couldn't control you anymore."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asks, his eyes hopeful. "Could be dangerous".

John laughs. "Indeed – that's why we're doing it".

And so, the fall of the British Government is decided on in the glorious October sunshine, while said British Government is reading the Times in the Diogenes Club, unaware that his greatest gift to his brother was the biggest mistake he ever made.

**Author's note: She suggested that Mycroft, being anxious to control every aspect of his brother's life, had John and Sherlock introduced.**

**Mind: Ahem.**

**Me: Yes?**

**Mind: You know... I read nothing about dark!Mycroft or Sherlock finding out in her prompt.**

**Me:... Well, it was implied...**

**Mind: It wasn't.**

**Me: You're meddling more than Mycroft.**

**Mind: My pleasure.**

**So, yeah, once you get me to think about something, it might end up being something very different. Sorry for that.**

**I hope you liked it, and please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I realized that, while this story was originally supposed to be a oneshot, it really left the readers hanging. And I don't want that, so you get another chapter.**

**Also, warnings for dark!Mycroft. In a oneshot, you might get away with just hints, but as soon as you write another chapter... enough said.**

**Happy first of December. You may not know this, but today I opened the first door of my "Adventkalender" (or Adventskalender). Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful day.**

**I don't own anything, please review.**

Making the plan to bring down Mycroft is easy. Trying to find a way to make it actually happen is difficult.

They can't discuss anything in their flat, because Mycroft has bugged it, of course, and still has the video feed. Not even Sherlock has been able to find the bugs or the camera yet, and that's saying something.

Even recruiting their friends isn't as easy as it sounds, because, as Sherlock informs John at the one street corner where no camera is in side, Mycroft has his eyes everywhere.

"He always had, to be honest. I grew up with the knowledge that every single step I took was watched, that Mycroft was aware of everything I was doing. He tried to make me wear a suit when I was three – complete with a little umbrella. He wanted me to become like him, I dare say – and when I refused, he became – angry." Sherlock shudders a little, and John really would prefer not to know, but he has to. His friend has carried this burden long enough on his own.

"What did he do?" When Sherlock just looks at the pavement, John grabs his arm. "Sherlock, what did he do?"

Sherlock shakes his head, but then he takes a deep breath and starts talking. "He took away my microscope for three weeks, but of course, that was just the beginning of it. When I got older, he'd lock me in my room – sometimes for days. Now and then, he would – hurt – me – it stopped when I became eighteen. Apparently he gave up his plans at this point and just concentrated on controlling every aspect of my life without trying to turn me into him."

"What about your parents?" John asks, shocked.

"They were never there."

John remembers something, and has to take a deep breath.

""I'll be mother"".

Sherlock chuckles joylessly. "He's never been more honest. Well, except when he told me why we met".

John nods. "So – how do we reach Mrs. Hudson and Greg?"

Sherlock looks thoughtful. "It' not going to be easy – " then his eyes start to sparkle. "You are going to have tea with Mrs. Hudson."

"But I can't tell her, now, can I?"

"No, of course not, but – we'll write a note. You have to pass it to her without it being visible to the camera or making a noise."

"So, basically, I have to watch out for a camera we don't know the position of."

"Exactly."

John looks at Sherlock, then shakes his head, but he smiles. "Good, then. I'm sure I'll find a way. What about Greg?"

"I dare say Mycroft won't watch closely when we're on a crime scene – he usually figures it out in the first two minutes, and if I manage to do it subtly – What?" John has started to laugh.

"Nothing, it's just – you and subtle. If that will not give you away, Greg's surprise will."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

John grows serious again. "Relax, Sherlock – I don't doubt you could do it. So the plan is this: Alert them without alerting Mycroft during everyday occurrences your brother won't think twice about?"

"Yes, it is."

"Fine, then. Let's do it".

John has to admit that he's more than impressed when he goes to Mrs. Hudson and has tea with her, because their house – landlady is an excellent actress. When he slides the piece of paper in her hand while he's accepting the cup she gives him, she doesn't even move one muscle in her face, and even manages to read it while pouring herself a cup.

It says, in Sherlock's handwriting (and with his usual diplomacy and tact), _We're going to bring down Mycroft. Ask John to help you with the shopping for further instructions. Destroy this._

She destroys the paper by eating it, together with a , all while chatting about Mrs. Turner next door, and John leaves her flat with the feeling that, if Mycroft only had a heart, he and Mrs. Hudson would actually get along quite well.

She has asked him, of course, to help her carry her groceries home the next day, and because she's done so a few times in the past, Mycroft won't realize something is going on and most likely won't check every camera they go past.

Sherlock asks casually "How's Mrs. Hudson?" when john enters the flat, and he simply answers, "She's fine", which means "It's all fine" and Sherlock nods and goes back to his experiment that seems to centre around several fingers and a piece of a human liver. John smiles and makes tea. Mycroft may be an Ice Man, and one who was controlled his little brother all his life at that, but still – John can't help but fell thankful. If only a little bit, because he certainly didn't enjoy being shot. Even though he knows, if he could choose, that he'd always decide to be shot again just so he could meet Sherlock.

At the store the next day Mrs. Hudson asks John to fetch her some bread and asks, when he returns, "Just out of curiosity, why now? Not that I am against it – That arrogant sod" John has never heard Mrs. Hudson insult anyone, so acting normal becomes a bit harder at her words "has controlled Sherlock way too long. Do you know he even set the poor boy and me up? Though I don't think he minds so much..." Here, her eyes ask a question and John realizes immediately what she wants to know. "He cares about you, Mrs. Hudson. We both do. Even Mycroft uses his powers for good, now and then".

Mrs. Hudson eyes darken "I can't agree with you there. Sherlock has – there are scars on his back, John. From a whip, I think. I saw them in America, when he overdosed in front of my house and I was told when I called an ambulance that "I'd have to handle this on my own"– " she swallows. "Though it might very well be that it wasn't his idea to overdose."

John shudders. Mrs. Hudson pats his arm. "You didn't answer my question."

John knows only the truth will do, so he looks her straight in the eyes and answers "It wasn't just you and Greg that met Sherlock because Mycroft wanted you to".

She understands the rest without him having to tell her and bites her lips. "And I hoped... maybe it was too much to ask." She shakes her head. "Anyway, I guess what we need is a scandal... something that would, I don't know, make Mycroft a security risk?"

Her eyes glitter, and John reminds himself never to be late with his rent. "I could help you with that. Mycroft stops by from time to time... Apparently he wants to keep up the appearance that he's simply worried about his brother. And now and then, through a half-sentence, he lets me know what's going on in the world... I'll keep my eyes and ears open".

"Mrs. Hudson, you are a – " here John stops himself, because he isn't sure that "saint" is the appropriate word top use, under the circumstances. So he decides to say "You are simply wonderful".

She beams at him, and they finish the shopping. On the evening of the same day, when Greg calls them in, he tells Sherlock what Mrs. Hudson said, while they're driving to the crime scene. Sherlock is only mildly surprised – then again, he is the World's only consulting detective.

"I'll try to tell Greg tonight, but I'm not sure how he'll react."

"Did Mycroft send him to your place using some kind of threat?"

"Definitely."

"Then he will be delighted."

As it turns out, John is right. Sherlock simply has to utter – amid his deductions – the words "We'll bring down Mycroft. Interested?" and the DI, while looking surprised for a moment, nods happily and tells him "It's about time".

Sherlock is rather happy that his friends – that he only has because of Mycroft, but it only makes the situation more ironic, so it's fine by him – will help him stop his brother, once and for all. Greg can arrest him, once Mrs. Hudson has the information they need, and they can make it appear that Mycroft is a traitor (and he hates the fact that, even after all that has happened, he still feels guilty about this), but until then, they can't do anything.

Or so he thinks. Because, all of a sudden, one day, a black limousine picks him up and he wonders why his brother has suddenly decided to kidnap him in the same way as his friends.

But, as it turns out, it's not Mycroft at all. It's Anthea.

She doesn't even look up from her blackburry as she says, in the dark,. Abandoned warehouse, "You do realize that I can lip-read, right?"

He curses in his mind; of course he was aware that she – and Mycroft – could do it, but he didn't think shed bother to check what they said at crime scenes or what John had to say to Mrs. Hudson at Tesco's.

"Don't worry" she adds and looks up from her phone for once. "I am aware what your brother put you through – and what he puts other people through" there is a faraway look in her eyes, and Sherlock knows why – he has found out enough, in the course of the years, to know what his brother does to people he deems "security risks".

She gives him a burn phone. "The driver who brought you here is trustworthy. Your brother doesn't even know this phone exists. I'll text you."

He only says "Thank you", but he knows she's aware what it entails.

She brings him home, and the thought that Mycroft will never know makes him incredibly happy.

He and John have to wait, for four long months. But they still solve crimes, and, since he made clear what he wanted, Mycroft doesn't try to contact him so he's rather happy.

Then Anthea sends him a message that simply says _There might be an opportunity. Watch out._ And he does. It's Mrs. Hudson who gets them the information they need, and he'd probably be more surprised if John hadn't told him how their house – landlady reacted.

But, apparently, Mycroft had coffee with her, while Sherlock and John were chasing a lead, and he mentioned something about "The defence treaty with the United States." Someone is too confident, but they'll soon fix that.

Sherlock does his research, and very soon it's apparent that the public knows nothing about this new treaty – that would allow the FBI to hack into any account in the UK, with no consequences whatsoever (naturally, Mycroft can do that too, but he is the CIA, not the FBI, and the public doesn't know about it).

Telling the press is easy, so very easy. All Sherlock has to do is visit Mycroft at the Diogenes Club and tell him that he's sorry, and steal his phone in the process.

Mycroft will think he only did it so he could check the information on the phone – of which there is close to nothing – but instead, Sherlock decides to write a mail to the Sun.

Two days later, every newspaper in the UK brings the story, and Greg, according to Sherlock's plan, knocks on Mycroft's door. Of course, Sherlock's brother isn't a traitor, wouldn't be even if he had told the press about the treaty, but having him arrested makes it even more obvious.

Obvious enough for Mycroft's supervisors. He is made to quit a few days later, and John grins when Sherlock tells him the news – Anthea texted him, apparently she's taking over Mycroft's job – but the realizes that Sherlock isn't smiling.

"Sherlock?" he inquires, "Is everything alright?"

Sherlock biets his lip and shakes his head, because he doesn't know himself what's got into him. "It's nothing. Mycroft won't be able to control me anymore – Anthea will send someone tomorrow to get rid of the bugs and the cameras, but still..." He looks away, and John realizes what the matter is in a way that only a normal human being can. "HE's still your brother" he says, quietly. "You still care."

"I shouldn't".

"That doesn't make it less true".

Sherlock nods, and John squeezes his shoulder, in passing, on the way to the kitchen to make some tea. Sherlock takes a deep breath.

There's a future ahead of him, a future without Mycroft – who's probably drinking brandy in his mansion right now, feeling, for once in his life, powerless – but with John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Molly, Mike, and any other friend he might choose to make. A future in which –

He is free.

Yes, Mycroft controlled his life, made him meet his friends.

But he also freed him in the process.

As he hears John prepare tea in the kitchen – and muttering about his experiments – Sherlock can't help but feel a little grateful.

Because Mycroft's meddling brought him this far.

And, on this evening, nothing else matters.

**Author's note: Trust me, I love Mycroft. But he had to get what was coming to him – in this story. And it makes for a great bromance.**

**I hope you liked it, please review.**


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